Breathless
by phoenix-tears-uk
Summary: Another day, another patient: but what happens when events take an unexpected turn? Story is complete, Chase centric. Hope you enjoy...
1. Chapter 1

A perfect day dawned over Princeton Plainsboro Hospital, but Dr. Gregory House was less than impressed. Leaning heavily on his cane he limped into his office, expertly ignoring the furtive glances being shot in his direction by the trio of young doctors awaiting his arrival. Maintaining his silence he proceeded to pour himself a steaming cup of coffee, then, turning his back on them again, he wrote a list of symptoms on the white board.

Turning to face the room House bounced lightly on his heels, surveying Foreman, Cameron and Chase expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Foreman said, apparently unimpressed by the list now presented to them.

"Perhaps the question was too difficult. Let's start with something simpler, shall we?" House turned and gesticulated elaborately at the board.

"These," he said, his voice heavy with false sincerity, "are _symptoms_…"

Trying his best to tune out House's inane blustering Chase slumped lower into his seat. His head was throbbing and he was pretty sure his sinuses were on the verge of rupturing.

"… When someone is feeling poorly sick, they –"

"Alright House, we've got the point," Foreman interrupted. "Who's the patient?"

"Fifty-six year old male. Presented with headache and vomiting."

"That could be practically anything."

"Well luckily were not looking for just anything."

"So what's the deal with this patient?"

"Aha!" House turned back to the board and wrote _myokymia_.

"Myokymia?"

"Unusual, eh?"

"Muscle tremors? I don't see how that fits in with the other symptoms."

"Exactly. So – "

The telltale irritation of a sneeze began to prickle at the back of Chase's nose, and he tried to suppress it, failing loudly.

The volume was enough to stop House mid-flow, but after an annoyed glare he continued.

" – suggestions people?"

"Parkinsons?" Chase offered.

"Please." House scoffed, "Myokymic discharges are far more pronounced than Parkinson tremors, and anyway, there's no history. What else?"

"Guillain-Barré can cause myokymic tremors" Chase tried again.

"Tap the spine, see if the protein level is elevated. Give me another."

"Myasthenia gravis? We could test for striated muscle autoantibodies."

"Do it."

"Could be a focal lesion. We should scan the brain."

House nodded his assent.

In the corner, Chase sneezed again

"What's wrong with you?" Foreman asked, shooting a look at Chase.

"Nothing" Chase replied, sniffing.

"You look flushed." Cameron said, frowning.

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"The wombat said he's fine, so let's all ignore the fact that he's blatantly ignoring hospital policy and get back to work, shall we?"

Cameron fell silent, although she continued to flick concerned glances at Chase.

"Right." House said, "Cameron, I want you to do the workup. Get a full history. Foreman, do the CT. Get a chest x-ray and run a full panel," He paused, then added as an afterthought, "include a tox. screen. Chase – " House hesitated momentarily as he took in the sheen of sweat that beaded Chase's forehead. "You go with Foreman."

Everyone stood, preparing to go about their set tasks.

"Is that it?" Chase asked, aggrieved by the lack of purpose to what he had been assigned.

"Yup." House replied, turning his back on him.

Chase sighed. He was becoming accustomed to House's indifference. He pulled a small plastic bottle from the pocket of his lab coat, his throat felt rough and sore and although he wanted to insist on a more purposeful activity, he felt ill-disposed to do so.

"What's with the water?" Foreman asked, gesturing towards bottle Chase was clasping in one hand.

"This? It's nothing… I'm trying to stay hydrated."

"When you girls have finished sharing your beauty secrets," House said, pushing between the two men, "we have a patient in need of having his boo boos fixed."

………………………………………………………..

Stan Jameson lay in his hospital room, pale and listless, but not without a temper. "About time!" he snapped, shifting restlessly in his bed. "I've been here for hours."

Cameron offered him a conciliatory smile and ignored the harshness of his tone – she was well adapted to the demands of her patients.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," she said, her tone soft.

"Well," Jameson huffed back, placated somewhat.

"Mr. Jameson I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"What sort of questions?"

"Just some standard background information: medical history, symptoms, that sort of thing… is that ok?"

Jameson fidgeted with his bed sheets, the ghost of his bad temper lingering. "I went through all of this earlier when they admitted me."

"If you don't mind sir, the more information you can give us the better we'll be able to plan your care."

"Oh, alright then." Jameson snapped.

Cameron flipped open her chart and prepare for what was undoubtedly going to be a long morning.

"So then," House said, toying with his bottle of vicodin and surveying Cameron and Foreman, "what say you?"

Cameron flicked Jameson's chart open and surveyed the pages of her own neat handwriting.

"Mr. Jameson has no family to speak of, he's got a son but the two have been estranged for around ten years. Mrs. Jameson died of leukaemia four years ago." Cameron looked up from her notes before continuing.

"Mr. Jameson complains of a history of anorexia, fatigue and weight loss and a couple of episodes of nose bleeds."

"Nose bleeds?"

"Uh huh, apparently lasting two to three days each time."

"Hmmm." House said, his tone contemplative.

"The myokymia has only been present for the past couple of days, the headache has been present for approximately five days… Previous history of illness is limited to three 'bad' colds in the past few years, and there's no current use of prescription medication, although…" Cameron rifled through her pages of notes, "It would seem that Mr. Jameson is somewhat into holistic medicine."

"_Holistic_ medicine?"

"Yeah. He's a strict vegan, grows his own organic food and takes a bunch of vitamins every day – a real health nut."

"You must remind me to congratulate him," House scoffed, "The tofu burgers seem to have done him a world of good."

"No prescription meds though," Cameron continued, ignoring House's interruption. "Physical exam reveals pale and dry skin and ulcerated mucosal membranes."

Chase entered the room just as Cameron finished speaking, an air of dishevelled discomposure about him.

"How nice of you to join us!" House exclaimed, casting his eyes to his watch. "And only twenty minutes after I paged you, that must be some kind of record."

"Jameson coded." Chase said simply. He slumped into a chair and rested his head back for a moment. The headache that had been plaguing him for the past few days was continuing unabated; pain hammering within his skull as he tried to focus his thoughts.

"What happened?" House asked, frowning.

"He went downhill fast." Chase responded, pulling himself back upright.

"Grand mal seizure, respiratory arrest. I had to intubate him."

"Seizures? That's new."

"Yep. Last vitals showed blood pressure to be 138/84; heart rate is 94 and regular; respiratory rate is 20, temperature 98.9°."

"Low grade fever." House mused, more to himself than anyone else.

Chase pressed the heels of his fists into his eyes, more tired than he would have thought possible only a few short hours into his shift.

"Foreman, maybe you can shed some light on this."

"CT shows an area of low density. Could be a lesion, maybe a cyst. We'd need to do an MRI with a higher resolution to get a closer look."

"What about the chest x-ray?"

"The lungs were clear. Heart looks in good condition, no enlargement. But…" Foreman got to his feet.

"…the blood shows massive irregularities. Red and white cell counts are at around 50, platelets are at a third the normal minimum, and haematocrit is at 32." An undeniably self-satisfied smile on his face, Foreman turned to face House.

"It's not an infection. I think we're dealing with aplastic anaemia."

House considered Foreman for a moment, then nodded.

"You're wrong."

"What?" Foreman cast around at Chase and Cameron, looking for support.

"These symptoms are classic aplastic anaemia. Combine the blood results with the weight loss, fatigue and nose bleeds and – "

"Not about the anaemia, the infection."

"There's only a mild fever and the white cell count is – "

"The white cell count is low because his bone marrow isn't producing any white blood cells. Yeesh! What med school did you go to?"

"So what makes you think he has an infection?" Foreman asked, frowning.

"Well," said House, feigning concentration, "There's the fever, for one. The nausea, vomiting, headaches, the myokymia, the seizures," House nodded towards Chase, "and the CT scan results."

"The CT scan was inconclusive."

"No, not inconclusive, just open to interpretation. An area of low density is typical of an abscess, which my little friends, brings us to the myokymia."

"You think he has a brain abscess?"

"You think he doesn't?" House shot back.

"Brain abscesses are incredibly rare. They usually only occur in…"

"In immuno-compromised patients. Ding! Give this man a prize!" House smirked at Foreman who glared back.

"So," Cameron interjected, heading off Foreman before he could snipe back at House, ""How do you think we should go about treating Mr. Jameson?"

"Start the empiric antibiotic regimen, penicillin and chloramphenicol IV push, and load 12mg of dexamethasone to reduce the intracranial pressure."

"And what do you think caused the aplastic anaemia?"

"Exposure to radiation, heredity, a viral infection." As Chase spoke his voice sounded tired even to his own ears. "That's if it is aplastic anaemia."

"I thought we'd established the anaemia." Foreman said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"All the blood results show is pancytopenia, we won't actually know what's caused it without doing further tests."

"Hmm," House mused, "The wombat seems to be onto something."

"So what should we do?"

"Aspirate the bone marrow and call Wilson in for a consult."

"Is that?"

"Well, we have to keep him busy somehow, don't we?" House stood. "And," he flexed his neck, "Chase, I want you to go to Jameson's house. See what you can find."


	2. Chapter 2

Chase stood outside Stan Jameson's house, observing the clean white paint of the picket fence and the bloom of flowers that were flourishing. It was obvious the place was well-loved, but beneath the surface it was clear that Jameson had let things slip of late. Chase took in the peeling white paint and grass that was some weeks overdue for a trim, the weeds that were beginning to emerge amongst the sprays of blossom.

Chase made his way up the pathway, contemplating how he was going to gain entry without drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Whilst the row of houses to the left of Jameson's house were quiet there was a gas station to the right that was crowded with cars and people.

Chase had been intrigued the first time House had sent him out to break into someone's home. Intrigued and, although he wouldn't admit it, quite excited at the prospect. His life had been somewhat devoid of anything that could be considered of even a remotely questionable nature, let alone outright illegal. Whilst breaking and entry wasn't something that had been listed as part of the job description, he had soon realised that working for House entailed more than the usual nine to five hours.

Glancing at the outwardly solid looking door Chase decided that he would perhaps be better put to try the back way in.

The back garden was an amazing sight, like something out of a children's story of days gone by. Neat rows of vegetables occupied half the garden and an apple tree in full blossom rose majestically from the centre of a manicured lawn. In pride of place stood a small brick well, perfectly circular and elegant in its simplicity. Chase smiled to himself, impressed with the extent of Jameson's self-sufficiency.

Rattling the door handle Chase found that is was, not surprisingly, locked. With a surreptitious glance around, he pulled a small pin from his pocket and began to work it into the lock, rotating it in arbitrary movements until eventually he felt the door click open.

With a final look around Chase pushed the door open and entered Stan Jameson's house.

Despite the fact that Jameson's file clearly stated that he lived alone, Chase was still wary of coming face to face with some unknown whilst he was snooping. He cleared his throat quietly, testing to see whether the noise would prompt any emergence of a well-meaning neighbour or long-lost relative. Eliciting none, Chase walked through the kitchen and found himself in the living room. The interior was much like the outside of the house. Despite being bright and airy, it was obvious that things had begun to slip. Empty cups sat amidst piles of newspapers that littered the floor and tv listing magazines dating back weeks were skewed across a coffee table.

Unsure of the layout of the house Chase was hesitant, opening the doors that led off the main room and peering inside for anything that looked remotely promising.

Coming across the bathroom, Chase entered.

A medicine cabinet loomed large on one wall, and pulling it open Chase knew he had hit the jackpot.

Row upon row of pill bottles were ordered neatly, all displaying varying degrees of spurious claims. Rifling through them Chase knew that he had found several new candidates as to the cause of Jameson's illness.

Conscious of the number of bottles he would have to carry back to the hospital, Chase decided to seek out a bag whilst simultaneously searching the rest of the house.

Whilst his search yielded little more by way of suspect substances, Chase found that the time he was spending away from the hospital was doing wonders for his mood. A sense of euphoria had descended upon him and, although his head felt distinctly fuzzy, he cared little about the odd sensation.

Making his way back through to the kitchen Chase stumbled and was forced to grasp hold of the table to steady himself. Chase wondered briefly at the giddiness that had overwhelmed him and breathing deeply he glanced out of the window. Outside the sun shone down on the fairytale garden and a moment later the concern had passed.

Chase glanced at his watch and was surprised by the length of time that had elapsed since he had left the hospital. Deciding that there was nothing else to be discovered in the house he straightened up and with a last fleeting look he pulled the door open and stepped out into the sunshine.

……………………………………….

Chase pushed the door open with more force than he had intended, and it swung wide, slamming loudly.

"Oops." Chase stumbled into the room, his spirits curiously high considering the litany of tedious tasks House no doubt had in store for him.

At the noise Cameron looked up from the files she had spread out over the table. She smiled enquiringly at Chase, similarly puzzled by the inane grin he had plastered on his face.

"What are you so happy about?"

"I uh…" He staggered into the room, swaying lightly on his feet.

Cameron's grin turned to a frown.

"Have you been _drinking_?"

"What? No_ooo_." Chase shook his head vigorously, his hair falling into his eyes.

"You are! You're drunk." Cameron stared at Chase in disbelief.

Despite the gravity of the accusations that were being levelled at him Chase felt the uncontrollable urge to laugh.

"I'm not drunk" he said, unable to suppress a lopsided smile.

"Sure you're not"

"No really, I'm not."

"Chase, I can't believe you'd risk your career like this! What if House sees you?"

"What if House sees me what?" Chase couldn't understand why Cameron was looking at him so anxiously. Her brow was creased and her eyes shining with anger.

"How could you be so irresponsible? Your patients trust you and this is how you behave?" Her voice was steadily increasing in volume and her outraged tone began to cut through Chase's head, a sharp pain stabbing behind his eyes in time with every rise and fall of her angry outburst.

Chase pressed his hands heavily to his face and squeezed his eyes shut. Everything was spinning and he was beginning to feel sick.

"Are you even listening to me? Chase?"

"_What!_" Chase spoke more harshly than he had intended to and found even his own voice aggravating the pain in his head.

Cameron stopped speaking and glared at Chase for a moment before turning her back on him, an expression of hurt on her face.

"Go home Chase, before you kill someone."

Chase remained seated, feeling nauseous and guilty, unsure as to how the day had taken such a turn for the worse. After a minute he stood, pausing for a moment to try and steady himself as the room spun.

"What about House?"

Cameron didn't respond for a moment.

"I'll tell him you're sick."

Chase made his way slowly to the door, each step requiring an inordinate amount of energy. At the door he paused.

"I haven't been drinking Cameron."

Cameron didn't respond.

……………………………………..

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed – they are very much appreciated. I'd just like to say that all the medical information is accurate, although I have taken one liberty in the time-scale. Literary licence! I hope you enjoyed this chapter – more soon.

Sarah


	3. Chapter 3

Chase awoke the next morning feeling anxious and groggy.

His eyes ached and he felt as though a tight band was wrapped around his skull, constricting his mood and his thoughts.

Memories of the previous day were hazy, obscured beneath a cloud of confusion that felt strangely like a hangover, but Chase knew he had consumed no alcohol.

Chase lay for a while, delaying the moment at which he would have to rise and face the day ahead.

He remembered Cameron's face; the look of disappointment as she had insisted that he leave, doubting his word and outraged at his conduct.

He couldn't think what had happened. He had _not_ been drinking, and yet he knew that he had not been himself.

Pulling himself into a sitting position a wave of dizziness swept through him. Chase squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the moment pass. When he opened his eyes he found the room had once again settled and he stood and began to prepare for the day.

Despite his best efforts Chase arrived at the hospital late, stumbling into House's office mid-meeting. The group was apparently discussing the case that had thus far produced more questions than answers. A trio of eyes glared in his direction, each with differing degrees of emotion.

House's countenance displayed little more than his usual expression of indifference, whilst

Foreman surveyed Chase with thinly veiled irritation, but it was Cameron's obvious anger and resentment that disturbed him most.

Chase looked away and sidled as quietly as he could into an empty seat, mumbling an apology.

After a moment the discussion continued, apparently where it had left off at his interruption.

Chase however found that the words simply washed over him, his aching head distracting him from all else.

"What did the house turn up?"

Chase looked up, realising that the question was being directed at him.

"What?" Chase said, unsure as to what he was being asked.

"The house."

"Uh, yeah. Nice place. Next to a gas station though, kind of noisy."

"I don't care about the noise! Did you find anything?"

"Oh, uh…" Chase flustered. _Had_ he found anything? He couldn't think straight. The last twenty-four hours felt like a blur.

"Yeah. There were tablets. Vitamins, mineral supplements. That sort of thing. And" Chase turned to Cameron, "You were right about him being a health nut. He's even got his own well in the garden."

"That's _fascinating_. Where are they?"

Chase looked blankly back at House.

"Where are what?"

House stared at Chase, caught somewhere between bemused irritation and frustrated anger. Frustration finally won out.

"Are you intentionally trying to be an idiot? If not you really should think about taking it up as a career, you're _so_ good at it. Where are _the_ _tablets_?"

"I uh… I didn't, I mean… I haven't got them." Chase averted his eyes, bracing himself for the caustic onslaught that was no doubt coming his way. Whilst he was accustomed to House's vociferous views on his ineptitude, this was the first time Chase felt that he deserved it.

For once however, it didn't come. House merely glared at Chase for a long moment and then squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh.

"Go back to the house, get the tablets, then go to the lab and test them. I want to know what they are and if they're contaminated with anything. Foreman I want you to repeat the coagulation factors, blood smear, cbc with differential, blood nitrogen and bilirubin. Cameron, you talk to Jameson again. I want to know exactly what he does with his spare time, and - " Cameron made to interject – "I don't want the PG sugar-coated version this time."

Marvelling that he had managed to escape one of House's inimitable dressing-downs, Chase stood, a surge of dizziness clouding his vision for the second time that day. He paused for a moment to allow the room to stop spinning before following Foreman out of the room.

……………………………….

Chase found that gaining entry to the house was easier on his return.

Despite his being there only the day before, he entered cautiously, well aware that his presence was less than legitimate.

The house was silent however, and, after a cursory look around, he found that nothing appeared to have been disturbed.

Closing the door behind him, Chase sighed. A deep sense of despondency had accompanied him since he had awoken and he felt frustrated that he had let House down. Their relationship was already laboured, and Chase was disquieted by House's lack of dismay in his failure. Had his expectations really dropped that low?

Chase rubbed at his forehead wearily. His head still ached and his sinuses throbbed uncomfortably. He knew he wasn't entirely well, and adding to that his low mood he felt that the day could not end soon enough.

Glancing at his watch Chase was startled by how much time had elapsed since he had left the hospital. It did nothing to improve his temper to find that even the simplest task was taking far longer than it should.

Making his way to the bathroom Chase began to cough. A dry hacking cough that burned his chest and scorched his throat. He tried to catch his breath, but couldn't.

He felt for his bottle of water but, pulling it from his jacket, he found it empty.

Chase stumbled through to the kitchen, groping for the tap and gasping for air. Turning on the faucet he dispensed with the need for a cup, instead pushing his face under the running tap and gulping water.

Chase stood up, leaning heavily on the sink as he heaved great lungfuls of air, struggling against the pain in his chest.

Minutes passed, and slowly the pain began to ease. Chase was left drained and trembling, a residual ache lingering in his chest and radiating through to his back.

Swaying slightly where he stood Chase drew long, slow breaths, trying to regain his composure.

After a moment he stood back slowly, releasing his steadying grasp on the worktop.

Chase turned, wanting nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed. Something was wrong, something more than a cold.

_Flu, maybe,_ Chase thought to himself, checking his own forehead for signs of a fever.

Imaging House's likely reaction if he failed to return with the various pills once again however was enough to persuade him that rest could wait until after his shift had finished.

Before leaving the kitchen Chase refilled his bottle with water, taking another mouthful before securing the cap. He made his way to the bathroom, still breathless, still dizzy.

The assorted bottles were laid out exactly as he had left them the day before, a messy disruption from their once ordered neatness.

Chase picked up a small plastic bottle, its blue writing proudly proclaiming a 'patented anti-ageing formula!' He scoffed at the assertion, knowing that the only thing that could prevent ageing was premature death.

Wondering at his own cynicism Chase thought that he had perhaps spent too long around House.

A sudden pulse of pain gripped his stomach, and Chase dropped the bottle, a cluster of tablets scattering noisily across the tiled floor.

His gut was churning, and pain radiated through his body, extending up to his jaw and down through his legs.

Chase bent double, gripping at his stomach. He lurched towards the toilet and vomited, retching again and again as his gut heaved.

For a while he knelt, suspended over the toilet bowl, the acrid taste of bile beginning to burn at the back of his throat. When he was certain that his stomach was empty, Chase sat back onto his heels, squeezing his eyes closed and drawing slow, deliberate breaths.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth._ He had lost count of the number of times he had spoken the mantra to his patients, but employing it now he was pleased to find that it eased the nausea that still churned in his stomach.

Chase was unsure how long he sat but found that as he tried to move the telltale prickle of pins and needles began to creep up his legs.

Clawing at whatever came to hand, Chase pulled himself up, coming face to face with his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He looked drawn, his face pinched and ashen. Chase blinked heavily, allowing his eyes a brief respite from the bright daylight that filtered in through the windows.

Pledging to himself that he would make his excuses after delivering the tablets back to the lab, Chase splashed some cold water onto his face and swilled his mouth of the bitter aftertaste of bile.

Straightening up he clumsily seized the tablet bottles and jammed them into his pockets.

A/N: Thanks again to all who have read and reviewed – I am very grateful for all your comments. I hope this chapter was up to scratch – more tomorrow!

Sarah


	4. Chapter 4

Returning to the hospital Chase found that the walk to the lab was entirely too demanding on his aching body. He walked slowly, leaning against hand rails he had never appreciated before.

"Chase!"

He turned to the owner of the voice, and found himself faced with the harassed countenance of Allison Cameron.

"What did the analysis turn up?"

Chase rested his back against the wall before he responded.

"I haven't done them yet."

As he had expected, Cameron was not pleased.

"Why not?"

"I'm ill." Chase replied with a sigh, resigning himself to the work he had ahead. "Give me an hour and I'll get the results to you, ok?"

"No, actually, it's not ok. Mr. Jameson is seriously ill. Foreman and I have been working all morning without having to pick up your slack, and you, by the way, are not _ill_. You have a _hangover_."

Cameron stalked away down the corridor, leaving Chase dazed and confused. He did not have a hangover and he certainly had not been drinking the day before. How he could convince Cameron of that, however, he wasn't sure.

Sighing once again Chase continued his laborious trek to the lab.

………………………

Hunching over a microscope did nothing to ease the headache that pounded relentlessly through Chase's skull. His eyes burned with tiredness and he struggled to focus them on the task at hand.

The analysis was nearly complete, and had thus far yielded nothing. The tablets, despite their questionable claims of everlasting health and vitality, appeared to be harmless.

Chase retrieved the final electron micrograph from the printer. Nothing untoward had contaminated the samples, and whilst this boded well for the untold number of people who undoubtedly took the various multi-vitamins and mineral supplements, it had shed no further light on the cause of Mr. Jameson's condition.

At the sound of his pager Chase gathered the accumulated paperwork together. The test results were long overdue, but Chase found that he little cared. Every moment that he remained on his feet felt like energy was being drained from him, and he was determined that he had grounds to discharge himself from what was left of his shift. Princeton Plainsborough Hospital had a policy, after all. He would merely be obeying the rules.

Chase left the lab and made his way as rapidly to House's office as his tired body would allow; the thought of home driving him onwards.

The exertion proved too much however, and Chase found that once again he began to cough. He stopped to take a drink before continuing at a more measured pace, the short walk taking far longer than the distance usually required.

Nearing House's office Chase found that he was forced to stop. Each breath sheared agonizingly through his lungs and came in ragged gasps.

For the second time in as many hours Chase found himself bent double. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought for breath and the file of test results slipped from his hands.

Foreman strolled down the corridor, no trace of speed present in his leisurely steps. He was quite used to arriving in House's office long before the man himself put in an appearance and so was quite content to take his time.

Rounding the corner however, he was concerned to find a man doubled up, gasping for breath.

Hastening forwards Foreman found himself taken aback to discover the man was Chase.

"Chase?"

Chase did not – could not – respond. His eyes met Foreman's, wide and fearful, rimmed red from the continued choking. He clutched at Foreman, desperately trying to maintain his balance, but he fell forwards onto his knees.

"Chase? Chase, listen to me. You're going to be ok."

Chase found that Foreman's words were followed by a swift and powerful blow to his back, knocking him forwards and propelling what little air he had managed to gasp out of his lungs.

Chase tried to say no, to tell Foreman to stop, but found that no words would come.

A second blow connected and Chase saw stars, his vision clouding as the lack of oxygen began to take its toll on his system.

He shook his head as vigorously as he could, desperate to communicate with Foreman, to tell him that he wasn't choking; that he couldn't breathe.

Incredibly, Foreman seemed to understand. He moved to face Chase whose mouth now opened in repeated futile attempts to draw in air.

"I need a crash cart!" Foreman yelled, to no one in particular, supporting Chase as his body began to slump, consciousness deserting him.

"Someone get me a crash cart!"


	5. Chapter 5

"What happened?" House limped into the room, a frown creasing his forehead.

Both Cameron and Foreman looked up, their faces sharing the strain of concern.

"Respiratory depression. I had to intubate him." Foreman fell silent.

House moved further into the room, his probing eyes taking in the form of Robert Chase; his body motionless but for the steady rise and fall of his chest, each movement accompanied by the mechanical hiss of a ventilator.

"Symptoms?"

"He's been complaining of headache for a couple of days." Cameron spoke quietly, her gaze averted. Whilst her face was hidden her voice was awash with suppressed guilt.

"He said he was ill, and I ignored him."

"Let's save the self-recrimination for later, shall we?"

Cameron glanced up quickly before averting her eyes once again. The brief moment had been long enough, however, for House to see them shining with tears.

"So what causes respiratory depression?"

Neither Foreman nor Cameron answered for a moment, their usual quick-fire responses impeded by the unexpectedness of the situation they now found themselves in.

"Anaphylaxes? Maybe an allergic response to an antigen?" Cameron offered the suggestion tentatively.

"Check Chase's file for any known allergies."

"There was no significant swelling when I intubated, the throat was maybe a little red, but otherwise clear."

"Check the level of serum tryptase in his blood anyway."

"Asthma?"

"No history"

"Could be adult onset."

"See if there's a history, look at the immediate family."

"How about Guillain-Barre? Respiratory depression could have been brought on by posterior tongue displacement secondary to loss of muscular tone."

"Possibly. Was there a gag reflex when you intubated?" House directed the question at Foreman.

"I don't know, it all happened so quickly."

House was obviously displeased by this response, but said nothing.

"Well we can't test for Guillain-Barre without a spinal tap, and going by the limited information we have – " he shot a look at Foreman " – we don't know if that's necessary. Considering that treatment for GB is merely supplementary let's leave that one for now."

"How about Botulism?"

"Do we know if there was any vomiting or diarrhoea?"

Foreman shook his head, Cameron shrugged.

"Diplopia? Blurred vision?"

Silence.

House sighed.

"Get a blood smear, look for botulinium toxin."

"The smear will take a while. If it is botulism he could be dead before the results are in."

Foreman interjected, frowning.

"We can't treat it unless we're sure. The anti-toxin itself is potentially lethal."

"Give him 40mg of guanidine hydrochloride."

Cameron nodded.

"What else?"

"Atelectasis?"

"Caused by what?"

"Bronchogenic tumour?"

"Not supported by the symptoms." House shook his head, rejecting the idea.

"We might not know all the symptoms."

"So what _do_ we know?" House barked. "We've spent every day of the last week with him, for God sake! What symptoms _do_ we know?"

Foreman ran a hand across his face.

"He had a cold."

"A cold"

"He was sneezing, flushed."

House looked expectantly at first Foreman, then Cameron.

"That's it?"

Cameron dropped her gaze.

"That's all we know?"

House sighed.

"Start with a plain chest x-ray, no contrast. See if anything shows up. Get a chem. panel, CBC, haematocrit, and coagulation factors… and an ABG."

Their tasks delegated, the group disbanded, leaving the unconscious Chase lifeless behind them.

…………………………

"Chase?"

Chase blinked against the light, trying to focus his blurry vision.

"Chase, can you hear me?"

The voice was familiar; a comforting presence in an alien situation.

"Chase?"

He forced his eyes to remain open, and slowly the concerned face of Cameron came into focus. The room was familiar yet different, white and sterile, a hospital room but from an angle he was unaccustomed to. A faint hissing sound hummed amongst a regular cadence of beeps.

Chase tried to speak but found that he couldn't. Something was blocking his throat, and he panicked, clutching at his mouth to remove the obstruction.

"No. Chase, no." A restraining hand grasped his own. "You have a tube in your throat to help you breathe; you have to leave it there, ok?"

Chase gagged, panic still gripping him.

"Just take a slow breath. Slow and easy, that's it."

Chase followed the instructions and found his fear calming. Turning his gaze to Cameron, he looked at her imploringly, trying to ask the question that he could not vocalize.

"You collapsed, do you remember?"

Chase shook his head gently, trying to think, trying to remember. What had happened?

With effort he raised his hand, trying to signify that he wanted to write.

_Dizzy. Sick. Headache._

The words were scrawled untidily across the paper and the effort left Chase drained.

Cameron read the words, digesting them slowly. As an aid to diagnosis they meant very little, corresponding to an unknown number of conditions.

"We're running some tests." Cameron glanced at Chase, then back at the scrawled words. She knew her words were inadequate, but didn't know what else to say.

The sudden rapid increase in the rhythm the heart monitor displayed caught Cameron's attention, and she shifted her gaze up at once. The once regular pattern was now skewed abnormally, and Chase's clear blue eyes were glazed.

"Chase?" Cameron forced her knuckles into the flesh just below his collar bone, but Chase failed to respond.

"_Chase?_"

"What is it?" Foreman strode into the room, his brow creased as he scrutinized the heart monitor.

"He's in v.fib, we need to shock him."

Cameron and Foreman moved at once into action, their movements perfectly coordinated as they pulled the crash cart into position.

"Charge to two-hundred… Clear"

The shock of electricity jolted through Chase's body, causing him to jerk sharply.

Their activity suspended, Foreman and Cameron turned as one to study the heart tracing. A flat line glared back at them, unashamedly declaring its finality.

"Again!"

Once more a jolt of electricity shook Chase's body.

A small noise signified the return of a normal heart rhythm, and Cameron looked up, her hands still clasping the defibrillator paddles as she watched the green line progress across the monitor.

"Normal sinus rhythm." Foreman spoke unnecessarily, almost as if to confirm the finding to himself.

Breathing heavily Cameron stepped back from the bed.

"What is this?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Chem. panel was normal, haematocrit and coagulation factors were within normal limits, and the CBC showed a somewhat raised white cell count – 12,000; nothing significant. The ABG – " Foreman referred to his notes, " – did show a higher than normal level of CO2, but that's only to be expected after a respiratory problem."

Cameron took up the exchange.

"There's nothing in Chase's file about known allergies and no family history of asthma. The level of tryptase was raised but again," she paused, "nothing to substantiate respiratory depression."

"What about the blood smear?" House paced awkwardly across his office.

"Clean." Foreman supplied. "So was x-ray. No fluid, no tumours, no shadows."

"And we can rule out Guillain-Barre: when Chase regained consciousness his impulse was to remove the intubation. Gag reflex is present." Cameron sighed, "Blood pressure is 98 over 65, pulse is 115, temp. is hovering around 98 and pupils are equal and reactive."

House stopped pacing and began bouncing his cane on the floor.

"So what do we have?"

"Chase wrote this when he regained consciousness." Cameron passed the slip of paper to House. He glanced at it briefly before tossing it aside.

"Anything _useful_?"

"All the tests are inconclusive. Unless we can talk to Chase we've not got much to go on."

"Well thank you, Sherlock." House snapped at Foreman. He stood and limped to the whiteboard, pausing for a moment before beginning to write on it.

_Respiratory depression_

_Arrhythmia _

_Elevated CO2_

_Elevated tryptase_

_Elevated WBC_

_Tachycardia _

_Dizziness_

_Headache_

_Vomiting_

"Is that everything?"

Foreman and Cameron scrutinised the board.

"He had a cold" Cameron offered, shrugging at its seeming insignificance.

House hesitated a moment, then inclined his head. He added _sneezing_ and _blocked nose_ to the list.

"So what explains these symptoms?"

They all studied the list, each lost in their own thoughts as they tried to put together a picture that explained the catalogue of symptoms that confronted them.

"Maybe there's an embolism. It would explain the rapidity of the onset and the severity of the symptoms. It doesn't explain everything, but the respiratory depression and the concomitant tachycardia and ventricular fibrillation were acute onset – maybe the other symptoms are something else." Cameron said, sounding quietly confident in her diagnosis.

"Two conditions?" Foreman asked sceptically.

"Why not? It's perfectly feasible. The headache, vomiting, stuffy nose… they're fairly common symptoms. It's not unreasonable that Chase had something as simple as a cold."

"The chest x-ray was clear."

"The embolism could have migrated."

"Aren't we stretching it a bit now?"

"Why?" Cameron asked, somewhat indignantly.

"It's not an embolism." House stated simply.

"Why not?" Cameron asked again.

"When was the last time you saw a pulmonary embolism present with altered mental status?"

"It might have originated in the brain."

House merely answered this with a glare. "What else?"

"It looks like anaphylaxis." Foreman said simply.

"You're right, it does." House nodded, his eyes remaining on the board. "But it can't be."

"Why not? The symptoms all fit, right down to the sneezing and nasal congestion. Chase thought he had a cold, but it could have been the beginning of an allergic reaction."

House shook his head.

"The onset of arrhythmia was delayed. Anaphylaxis is rapid."

"Maybe there was continued exposure to the antigen"

House raised his eyes at the suggestion.

"Unlikely… but give him a 200mg hydrocortisone i.v. and check for urticaria – anaphylaxis rarely presents without some other sign of allergic reaction. Assume it's not anaphylaxis. What else have we got?"

Foreman ran a hand over his face.

"We need to do more tests."

"Tests for _what_?" Cameron snapped, "We don't _know_ anything."

"_Think_." House exclaimed. "We have list of symptoms and an idea of onset. What does it all mean?"

House's outburst was followed by a minute of silence.

"Maybe…" Cameron spoke hesitantly, then stopped.

House looked at her for a moment, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he spoke.

"Maybe what? Are we meant to guess?"

"I…" Cameron stopped again, considering what she was trying to say.

"I don't know if this is anything, but yesterday…"

"Yesterday…?" House prompted.

"Chase was… he was… strange." Cameron stopped herself, not wanting to say 'drunk'.

"Strange?" Foreman asked.

"Strange?" House repeated. "Is that some new fangled medical term you youngsters are using nowadays? 'Cause if it is you're going to have to explain it to an old coot like me"

"He was… his behaviour. It was almost as if he was…" Cameron hesitated again then, weighing her concerns over keeping a secret against the potential significance of what she had to say, "… as if he was drunk."

A minute of silence followed this statement; House and Foreman contemplating any implications it may have for diagnosis.

"Could you be more specific?" Foreman asked, his brow creased as he deliberated the new information.

"I don't know. He was… it was like he was… high." Cameron finished lamely, embarrassed at her lack of articulation.

"High?"

"Yeah, you know? Giggly, wild… a bit manic."

"Chase wouldn't come in drunk. I know he can be a bit… self-interested, but he just wouldn't do that." Foreman spoke emphatically, the furrows in his brow deepening.

House looked at Foreman contemplatively, somewhat disarmed by the unusual display of support he was displaying toward Chase – the relationship between the two rarely seemed more than forced civility. His silence continued as a grim but logical conclusion came to him.

"Was Chase using anything?"

"What!" Cameron exclaimed.

"It makes sense. From the ventricular fibrillation and the respiratory distress to the nasal irritation. So what was it? Cocaine?" He looked to Cameron and Foreman as if seeking confirmation.

"Chase wouldn't…" Cameron began, but was cut off.

"Oh, spare me the well-meaning objections. If he's on something I need to know what it is." He looked at Foreman and Cameron's dark expressions.

"Well?"

"House…"

He stared at the young pair of doctors, daring them to challenge him again.

"Just run a tox. screen. Find me when the results are in."


	7. Chapter 7

The hum of the various laboratory instruments murmured softly in the background as Cameron sat stiffly on her stool, waiting for the mass spectrometer to alert her to its completed analysis.

The whirring machines were strangely hypnotic, she found, and a certain sense of peace had descended upon her since she had entered the room: the droning noise familiar and normal in circumstances that were anything but.

Cameron found it difficult to even conceive of Chase as a drug user, a _junkie_, and yet… A lingering doubt refused to be dispelled from her mind. Just thinking back to the previous day when Chase had come bursting into the office, eyes wide and barely able to stand upright… She had thought him drunk at the time – it made perfect sense.

She refused to believe it. She didn't want to believe it.

But if not drugs, what?

The unmistakable ping of the equipment roused Cameron from her ruminations and she jerked back to awareness, jumping from her seat in her eagerness to discover what the analysis had revealed.

Pulling the sheet of paper from the tray, Cameron read it fervently.

Sighing heavily, she turned and left the lab, keenly aware that House would be eager to see the results.

………………………

"No trace of drugs, illegal or otherwise."

Cameron dropped the file on the table in front of where House sat, the faintest hint of 'I-told-you-so' in her voice.

"How 'bout that?" House replied, not bothering to read the report.

"Is that all you can say?" Cameron asked, piqued by his lack of contrition.

"What would you prefer?"

"House!"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist."

Cameron stared at House in open-mouthed indignation.

"Any signs of uriticaria?"

Cameron continued to stare, disbelieving of House's ability to gloss over the glaring offence he caused others. Biting back a rebuke, she shook her head.

"No. There are no obvious signs of an allergic reaction and the hydrocortisone isn't showing any effect."

As Cameron spoke Foreman entered the room, dropping heavily into a chair.

"So then, what've we got?"

"Nothing." Foreman responded, a trace of despondency in his voice.

Heaving himself up House hobbled to the white board, surveying it closely.

"Right." He said, "What we have here is the involvement of three distinct organ groups. Cardiac, pulmonary and neurological. What can cause these symptoms?"

Foreman sighed, "House, we've been through this already…"

"Don't look at them as a whole," House interrupted, "look at the organ systems, and _think_."

"The acute pulmonary symptoms presented first – at least that we know of. They could have triggered the cardiac involvement." Cameron offered.

"No." Foreman disagreed, "The neurological symptoms presented at least twenty-four hours before the pulmonary distress. A neurological condition could precipitate all of what we're seeing now."

"How about that? A neurologist seeing a neurological problem."

Foreman shot House a look, but otherwise ignored the jibe.

"There could be an underlying pathology in the brain – a tumour, a bleed, an infection."

"The blood results aren't showing any sign of infection." Cameron interjected.

"It could be an occult infection, localized to a small area of the brain. We really should scan the head…" Foreman looked to House, seeking approval that he really did not need. House's attention, however, was elsewhere.

"House?"

He remained silent, frowning in concentration.

"House?"

Ignoring Foreman House walked to the whiteboard and picked up a pen. He tapped it against the board for a moment, then underlined the symptom _altered mental status_ that had been added to the list earlier.

"So…" He turned back to the room. "Can anyone tell me what we have now?"

Foreman and Cameron exchanged a mystified look.

"Does that even help us?" Foreman asked.

"I think my original question implies that it does."

"So are you going to tell us what, or are we playing twenty questions?" Cameron asked, her voice far more fierce than she intended.

"A _toxin_." House retorted. "Isn't it obvious? The elevated tryptase, the dizziness, vomiting – _a change in behaviour_?" House peered at Cameron and Foreman, who, apparently, failed to respond as he had hoped.

"Come on!" He turned to Cameron. "You said he looked like he was drunk, you were right. He _was_ under the influence – just not alcohol."

"What then? This is all speculation, House." Foreman snapped.

"Well _that_ is what we need to work out. What are the most likely sources of toxin exposure?"

Foreman sighed, clearly impatient at the new direction they were taking.

"Environmental, dietary, accidental…" Cameron intoned, sounding little convinced. "Routes of exposure could have been through inhalation, ingestion, or absorption. If we are talking about a toxin the symptoms don't really preclude any of the possibilities."

"Absorption is the least likely." Foreman added, "There's no evidence of skin irritation and the eyes are clear… So how could have exposure occurred?"

"Dietary is out." House said, "Chase eats in the cafeteria same as everyone else. If that was the source there'd be other cases. So what toxins could he have come into contact with here at the hospital?"

"Chase is an intensivist" Cameron said, "he works with dozens of different drugs everyday, but he's careful. There's no way he could have exposed himself to dangerous chemicals."

"Outside of the hospital then. His apartment, the grocery store, a lap-dancing club – where might he have been?"

"His apartment seems the most obvious place to look – after here it's the place he spends the most time, but all the same, what toxins are there likely to be in an apartment building?"

"You'd be surprised." Cameron answered. "You look in any kitchen or bathroom and there are dozens of dangerous chemicals. Ammonia, chloric acid, ethanol, sodium dichromate, polytetrafluoroethene –"

"Does Chase strike you as the kind of person who spends a lot of time cleaning toilets?" House interrupted.

Cameron glared at him, "But you get my point?" she said scathingly. "Chase could have been exposed to any number of chemicals."

"Yes, I get your point. So why don't you…" he stopped mid-sentence, an expression of comprehension arching his features.

"What is it?"

House did not answer for a moment.

"Did Chase say that Jameson lived next to a gas station?"

"What?" Cameron asked, confused by the sudden change of subject.

"Stan Jameson! The patient we've been treating for the past few days. Does he live next to a gas station?"

"Uh, I think so." Foreman replied, flicking through his notes for confirmation. "Yeah." He looked up, "Why?"

"Gas stations," House said, "sell gas. Can anyone tell me what a primary component of gasoline is?" He looked to Foreman and Cameron, taking in their bewildered faces.

"What has gas got to do with –" Foreman began, but was cut off by House.

"Benzene. That's what. Benzene has got everything to do with this."

"Benzene?"

House nodded.

"It fits perfectly, both for Jameson and Chase. Jameson presents with aplastic anaemia, Chase with rapid onset of respiratory and cardiac symptoms. Jameson is the classic case of chronic exposure, Chase of acute. It makes sense!"

"Benzene is known for its odour, there's no way Jameson or Chase could have missed it."

"Why not? Jameson lived next to the gas station for years. The sensors of the olfactory receptor cells would have been saturated before he'd finished unpacking."

"And Chase?"

House thought a moment before responding.

"He had a cold. Blocked nose equals dulled senses. He didn't smell the benzene because he couldn't…" Finding his explanations had not yet convinced, he continued.

"Think about it. Chase went to Jameson's house yesterday and returned behaving like he was on the business end of a liquid lunch. Euphoria is a classic symptom of acute benzene poisoning. He came in this morning and could barely string a sentence together. Again, classic presentation of CNS depression. He goes back to Jameson's house and sure enough the progression increases pace. We've got respiratory depression, ventricular fibrillation, tachycardia – it _fits_."

House finished speaking and a brief silence fell.

"What do you want us to do?" Cameron asked.

"Go to Jameson's house. We need samples; we need to know exactly what we're dealing with."

"You want us to go to Jameson's house? After telling us the place is contaminated with benzene, you want us to go there?" Foreman glared at House, astonished at his request.

"Don't spend more than five minutes in there and you'll be fine. Ten minutes, tops."


	8. Chapter 8

The warm air was thick and heavy, perfumed with a sweet scent that drifted lazily on the breeze.

Cameron thought it to be radiating from any one of the blossoms burgeoning in the crowded flowerbeds, but strangely enough it seemed to be more pungent inside the house than out. Even with her hand clasped tightly over her face the odour seeped through her fingers, snaking tendrils of vapour into her lungs.

"What is that smell?" Cameron called, her voice muffled by her hand.

"Benzene." Foreman called back, his voice similarly muted as he answered through his fingers.

"House was right. This place is loaded with the stuff."

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"The guys from environmental health should be here any time now, we'd better wait outside."

Cameron strode as quickly as she could out of the house, her chest burning as she tried not to breathe and the heavy sound of Foreman's footsteps behind her.

Coming out into the open Cameron breathed deeply, the clean air refreshing to her senses. She and Foreman had been in the house for less than five minutes yet she had already begun to feel the intoxicating effects of the poisonous fumes.

"How bad do you think it is?" Cameron asked anxiously.

Foreman let out a long breath, and looked briefly back at the house.

"Judging by how strong that smell is and the fact that I feel dizzy after being in there for no more than a couple of minutes? I'd say it's bad."

"How could Jameson have lived in there for so long? His presentation was chronic, but Chase's… how does that make sense?"

Foreman shrugged, "The level of contamination must have increased. A broken pipe, a leaky valve – something's gone wrong in a serious way."

Frowning Cameron surveyed the street, taking in all the houses; the dusty cars waiting to be washed, the overgrown lawns waiting to be mown.

"How far do you think the effects of the gas have spread Foreman? Look at this street; everything looks… like it's dying."

Foreman too appraised the length of the road.

"You're right." He looked at Cameron. "It's not safe here. We should leave."

As they began to walk back to the car a small truck rounded the corner, pulling to a halt in front of Jameson's house.

"Are you from public health?" Foreman called as a tall, bearded man rose from the vehicle.

"Yeah, Rick Wallace," he said, "Who are you?"

"We're from **PPTH** – we're treating the owner of this residence" he indicated Jameson's house, "for what we think is benzene toxicity."

"Well," Rick said, "I can tell you now that you're right. That smell? Typical benzene – it's an aromatic hydrocarbon, usually used in industry." He paused, contemplating the surroundings, "It's almost certainly coming from the gas station."

"Are we safe?" Cameron asked, "From here, I mean."

Wallace wrinkled his nose, "For a while. We need to shut down the gas station though, clear out the local residents until the gas has dissipated."

"How many people is it likely to have affected?"

"Hard to tell. The intensity of the odour suggests a significant leak. You've only got the one patient?"

"Two. The owner or this place, and a colleague of ours."

"Acute presentation?"

"Our colleague, yes. But the owner of the house presented with chronic aplastic anaemia."

"Anaemia?" He let out a long whistle. "If he's been exposed long enough for the benzene to destroy the bone marrow then the leak isn't a new problem. There's most likely been some seepage for several months, maybe even years."

"So what do you do now?"

"Well, we'll obviously take some readings first. Air, soil, groundwater… but as I said, the gas station will almost certainly have to be closed and the residents moved temporarily. If what you say about the owner of this place is correct it might be an idea to get the locals in for a medical. Who knows what sort of damage has been done if the leak has been going on for years…"

"You know a lot about benzene?" Cameron asked, apprehensively.

Wallace grinned, "Sure do. Whilst it's not common benzene toxicity does crop up now and again."

"What's the prognosis? Generally speaking I mean, for acute poisoning?"

Wallace's face fell, the grin slipping away. He sighed before responding.

"Depends on the degree of exposure. Strictly speaking we're being exposed right now, but - " he cut in at the expression on Cameron's face, " – given the open environment the concentration of benzene is unlikely to do any significant harm. Inhalation in the region of fifty-parts per billion is enough to bring on the symptoms of acute toxicity, so is ingestion of anything greater than sixty-parts per million."

"But what about the prognosis?" Cameron pressed again.

Wallace again hesitated in responding, contemplating Cameron and Foreman with what looked like pity.

"Are we talking about your colleague?"

"Yes."

"Rapid onset? Breathing difficulty?"

Foreman nodded.

Wallace ran a hand through his beard, and sighed again.

"Like I said, it depends… prognosis is… It's tricky. There is no direct antidote, as it were, for benzene. Treatment is supportive." He shook his head apologetically, "You just have to do what you can and hope the body can repair itself."

A brief silence fell, broken after a moment by Rick Wallace smacking his hands together.

"Let's take some readings, eh? So we know what we're dealing with."

………………………

Several hours passed when Chase awoke to pain. His stomach contracted in spasms that gripped in a vice-like hold and refused to ease.

He tried to scream at the pain shearing through his body, but could not. His mouth was obstructed and he panicked, tearing at his face.

The sudden blaring of an erratic siren-like noise screeched through the air, alarming him further.

In a brief moment of clarity Chase recognised this as a heart monitor.

He could feel bile rising in his throat, and he tried to swallow it back, terrified of choking. His chest began to burn and he gasped in a futile attempt to force air into lungs that had seized in panic.

In that moment Chase knew he was dying. Black obscurity began to overcome him, clouding his vision and dulling his senses. The pain eased as the void overtook him, and he sank into it gratefully, letting it wash over him.

As the last thread of consciousness slipped away, the erratic noise ceased. In its place a high-pitched drone shattered the air. His eyelids fluttered closed, and as he succumbed to the darkness Chase knew his heart was no longer beating.


	9. Chapter 9

House sat quite still, in his office, his eyes closed. His unmoving body belied the exertions of his mind, yet no trace of his deliberations could be outwardly seen.

"House?" The voice came unexpectedly, and House opened his eyes with a jerk.

"You have the results?" He said, by way of response as Foreman pushed his way into the room, Cameron close behind him.

"All tests were positive for benzene. The whole street was contaminated; they've got hazmat teams in there now trying to clean the place up. Air pollution in Jameson's house were sixty thousand parts per million and the groundwater was seventy parts per million.."

House nodded as he listened, his face impassive.

"Did you hear what we said?" Foreman pressed, irritated at the lack of responsiveness. "Both of those levels exceed toxic thresholds."

"I heard you." House sighed.

"And?

"And…?"

"And what are we going to do? The treatment is – "

"There is no treatment. The best we can do is manage the symptoms."

A hush fell as each person absorbed House's words. Although neither Cameron nor Foreman would admit it, they had both harboured the hope that, despite the public health expert's words, House would have been able to provide some glimmer of hope, some abstract course of treatment that would halt the destructive action of the poison.

The shrill blast of three pagers shattered the stillness, and almost as one each doctor reached for their own device.

Cameron reached hers first.

"It's the ICU. It must be Chase."

……………………….

"What happened?" Foreman called, sprinting down the corridor towards the ICU room that housed Chase, closely followed by Cameron.

"Dr. Chase went into cardiac arrest again. We shocked him back," The ICU doctor added rapidly, noticing the alarm on Foreman's face. "But he'd managed to partially remove the ventilation tube. We had to re-intubate him but his breathing is laboured and he's bradycardic."

"Are you sure you intubated him correctly?" House's voice sounded from behind.

"Of course." The doctor responded, somewhat indignantly.

"Have you x-rayed the chest to make sure?"

"I can assure you there's no need," the doctor answered stiffly, "I have performed the procedure several times, after all."

"You should schedule a chest x-ray." House said, directing the request at Foreman.

"Dr. House, as I said…"

"Do the x-ray. If he's aspirated the lungs we need to know sooner rather than later."

The doctor glared for a moment, then without speaking, turned and strode away down the corridor.

The incessant hiss of the ventilator greeted House, Foreman and Cameron as they entered the ICU room.

A tense silence hung in the air between them as they once again surveyed the insentient form of Chase, his body still but for the mechanically-regulated rise and fall of his chest. His face was paler now, the skin stretched over his cheekbones, grey and taut.

"He's getting worse." Cameron said, her voice hushed. She turned to face House.

"There must be something we can do."

House did not respond immediately, his eyes focused somewhere between Chase's bed and the blank wall behind him.

"Benzene has a triphasic pattern of elimination. The initial half life is one hour, then three, then fifteen plus. Chase is in the third phase. The best we can do is watch and wait. Either his body will eliminated the toxins, or…" He paused. "Get the chest x-ray." He asserted again. "We can't do anything unless we know what's going on."

"The x-rays are in."

Cameron slotted it into the light box, illuminating the image of Chase's lungs, an area of shadow clearly visible on the x-ray film.

"The right lobe has been aspirated." Cameron sighed. She turned to face House, "How bad is this?"

"It depends," House replied. "on the constituents of the aspirates." House surveyed the x-ray more closely.

"Vomiting is more classically associated with benzene ingestion, not inhalation. Hydrocarbons are lipophilic, so if Chase ingested benzene in all likelihood the mucous membranes in his lungs have been partially dissolved. Assuming however that there was only the one route of exposure, we shouldn't have anything to worry about."

Cameron looked on, horror struck.

"_Dissolved_?"

"Yeah." House nodded, "Neat, huh?"

"_Neat_?" Cameron responded, in a tone that made it clear she didn't find his words 'neat'. "You think this is _neat_?"

"You don't?"

"House!"

"Draw off some of the aspirates, test the pH. Anything less than three and we have to worry about chemical pneumonia."

"What about bacterial pneumonia?"

"Always a possibility with digestive aspirates. Culture and gram stain the sample you take. Start a course of ampicillin to cover all the bases."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this one. As I said a few chapters back, I have taken a slight liberty with the time line – in reality, benzene is eliminated within a few hours. But hey, that's fiction for you!

Sarah


	10. Chapter 10

The insentient form of Robert Chase looked somehow diminished, his blond hair framing his pale face like a halo. Several hours had passed since he had crashed but Chase had failed to regain consciousness, his lifeless body moving in rhythmic harmony with the ventilator.

Foreman and Cameron again found themselves in the hospital room, flanking Chase's bed. They had come equipped with the necessary apparatus to carry out the fibreoptic broncoscopy, but had found their professionalism had given way to unease at the prospect of performing such an invasive procedure on someone so close.

Seeming to steel himself Foreman blew out a sigh,

"Right, let's do this."

Cameron nodded mutely and began to prepare the fibroscope.

Lowering Chase's head so he could gain full access Foreman carefully began to remove the tape from the tube snaking its way into Chase's throat: in order to insert the fibroscope it would be necessary to remove the intubation tube.

Grasping the tube Foreman glanced quickly at Cameron, whom he found to be watching his actions intently. Turning back to the task in hand Foreman slowly began to retract the tube, frowning in concentration as he withdrew it.

Chase coughed; a choking gasp, and for a moment Foreman hesitated. The coughing subsided however and Chase began to breathe, albeit in a shuddering intake. He did not wake.

"OK?" Foreman said in both a statement and a question.

"Here." Cameron said, passing an anaesthetic spray to Foreman.

After depressing the aerosol in two rapid burst he handed it back to Cameron, who took it and in turn handed him the flexible fibroscope. After easing Chase's head back further he began to insert the camera into his throat.

Foreman progressed slowly, his gaze flitting back and forth between the monitor and Chase's eyes, searching for signs of consciousness.

A minute passed before Foreman spoke again,

"I'm in the secondary bronchiole."

"Look" Cameron said, indicating the screen where healthy pink tissue gave way to a seething mass of blisters.

"Damn," Foreman breathed.

"Take it a little deeper, we need to know how extensive the burns are."

Foreman nodded and began to work the scope further into Chase's lungs.

Chase coughed, his body twitching lightly.

Foreman hesitated, watching for further signs of consciousness, but observing none he continued.

Chase twitched again, more violently this time, and his eyes jerked open. His gaze darted haphazardly about the room, coming to rest at last on Foreman who stood above him. His eyes were fearful, panic-stricken, and he choked, gagging on the fibroscope.

"Chase," Cameron said, moving to his side at once, "Chase, its ok."

Chase gagged again and began to grope wildly at the tube.

"Chase!" Cameron tried to restrain his flailing arms.

"Cameron will you get hold of him!" Foreman snapped, trying to complete the procedure. A pearl of sweat beaded on his brow as he frowned in concentration.

"I'm trying." Cameron retorted through gritted teeth. "Chase, _please_."

Chase knew that he should listen; he knew that they were trying to help him, but a crushing panic had overwhelmed him. In the brief moments that consciousness had found him in the past twenty-four hours he had known nothing but struggle, his body rebelling against his basest need for breath.

"Dammit Chase!" Foreman began to retract the fibroscope, abandoning the attempt. Releasing the scope with one hand he gripped Chase's head, forcing his struggling to subside.

"Chase, listen to me," Foreman said, his voice quiet but firm. "You can breathe, just calm down, ok? Just breathe."

Slowly, with effort, Chase forced his pounding heart to calm. He drew in a breath and despite the burning exertion it instantly soothed his blazing lungs.

Returning his attention to the fibroscope Foreman removed it quickly and expertly, eliciting only a short series of coughs from Chase before his breathing once again returned to a semblance of normal.

Cameron, her hands remaining on Chase's arms after her failed attempt at stilling his writhing, dropped her head lower.

"Chase, do you know where you are?"

Chase, his eyes screwed up against the pain, heard the words but couldn't answer; his focus concentrated instead on the task of breathing. Each inhalation revived and depleted in unmatched measure, draining what little energy remained within him. He longed to respond; to demand explanations as to what was happening to him, why his lungs raged and his head pounded.

"What…" he croaked, his voice dying away after the single word.

"You're in hospital," Cameron said, "You were…" Cameron hesitated to use the word 'poisoned', "…you've been very sick."

Chase forced his eyes open, his gaze coming to rest on Cameron's face. The look of incomprehension spoke volumes, his brow creased in bewilderment.

"Can't… breathe…" Chase choked, his chest caving in exertion.

"You aspirated your stomach contents." Foreman said, moving from the head of the bed.

"Why?" Chase gasped, struggling against the pain hammering from within his lungs.

"You were exposed to benzene."

Chase frowned at this information, his exhausted mind trying to comprehend its implications. A dozen more questions entered his mind, but he could not articulate them; his body utterly drained.

"It happened when you went to Jameson's place – the air, the water – both were contaminated."

A particularly sharp pain pierced his head and Chase winced.

"Listen, man, you're going to be sore for a few days but you're gonna be alright, okay?" Foreman said, patting Chase's arm reassuringly.

"We need to run a few more tests, but you are going to be fine." Cameron said, squeezing his hand in encouragement, "You've got House working on it. Don't worry."

Chase could not respond. Incapable of holding them open any longer, his eyelids closed of their own volition and the room faded into darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

"What's his status?"

"Why don't you go up to the ICU and see for yourself?"

With the barest glance at her House limped past Cameron and settled himself at his desk.

"His breathing has settled on one hundred percent O2 by mask and we've started him on intravenous prednisolone to reduce the inflammation in his lungs."

"And the pH of the aspirates?"

"4.2"

"So chemical pneumonitis is off the menu then."

"The aspirates were positive for the metabolites of benzene."

"That explains the tissue damage then."

"How can you be so dismissive!" Cameron yelled, anger suddenly overwhelming her.

"You work with Chase every day of the year, but you couldn't care less, could you?"

"Well that's not true." House said. "Chase gets vacation time, same as you do."

"House!"

"What do you want me to say?" House asked fiercely, avoiding Cameron's glare. "That I'm a heartless bastard? That I don't give a damn?" He turned away from her,

"Of course I care."

Cameron did not respond, but found herself watching House intently. A sense of guilt reared in her chest and she swallowed it back, irritated with herself for being so responsive to House's mercurial moods.

"What are you doing down here, anyway?" House snapped, "Shouldn't you be holding the wombat's hand and feeding him grapes?"

Cameron glowered at House, speechless. Anger blazing once again she turned from House, not wanting to even look at him. Without another word she left the room, leaving House, his face creased in an unsettled frown, behind her.

……………………….

Several hours had passed and Chase's condition had shown slow but steady improvement. House, usually the last to know about the state of the patient, had this information first-hand having spent several hours ensconced in Chase's ICU room.

Numerous nurses had passed through the room and after their initial shock at seeing him, they had ignored House, and he them.

The room was in semi-darkness, but House was illuminated in the glare of his portable television: the exploits of the characters being played out in miniature on the small screen. He did not distinguish at first the faint voice from those arguing on the television, but after a moment realised that the sound lacked the tinny quality of those emitting from the screen.

"What are you doing here?"

House continued to stare at the lavishly made-up actors and actresses as they flounced about opulently decorated sets.

"The doctors' lounge over in OBGYN kind of smells. Those babies don't care who they puke or crap on."

Chase blinked back the fug that clouded his head, unsure as to whether or not he had truly regained consciousness. House? In his room? It seemed so unlikely. And yet the nasal over-enunciations of someone called Britney flitted to his ears and he knew, having never been a fan of the soaps to which House was so devoted, that he must be awake.

"What time is it?" Chase asked the question purely out of the perceived need to speak. Truth be told he little cared what time it was, besides which he wasn't even sure how many days had passed since the hitherto unappreciated functioning of his lungs had abandoned him.

"A little after three."

"In the morning?"

"As much as I enjoy sitting on moulded plastic furniture, there are far better things I could be doing at 3 o'clock in the morning than watching tv and keeping your sorry ass company." House looked up from the screen for the first time, and their eyes met briefly. "It's three, as in pm."

Chase blinked heavily. He could scarcely believe that behind the drawn blinds a bright, sunny day continued as normal. He felt exhausted, as if he had been awoken in the midst of an impenetrable slumber. Chase licked at his dry lips. Whilst his voice had returned, it felt strange: unnatural and unwelcome against his sore throat.

"Why – " His voice caught in his throat and he coughed, the slight action eliciting sharp pain throughout his chest. Dragging in a breath, he tried again.

"Why are you here… really?"

Chase had never thought himself one for deep and meaningful conversation, but overwhelmed by fatigue he felt that, if there was ever a time to speak freely, it was now.

House did not answer at once, his attention having returned instead to the tv screen. Chase wondered if he had been heard, but did not repeat the question.

"I think it's Cameron's time of the month."

Chase stared, taken aback by the blatant inappropriateness of this statement.

"What?"

"She's been stalking around like a wounded deer. She seems to think I've been neglecting you."

Chase contemplated House, startled by the suggestion – slight as it was – that House felt in some way responsible for his welfare.

"I'm ok" He said finally, falling back on the dismissive response he so often used to deflect attention from himself.

"You're not ok," House said, rather harshly.

Chase regretted questioning House about his presence. If nothing else he felt he could rely on sarcasm and cynicism, but in the face of a caring – albeit idiosyncratically so – House, he felt unsettled.

House drew a deep breath, "You will be, but you're not ok at the moment."

"The benzene…" Chase began but his voice caught once again in his rough throat. He began to cough and this time could not stop. His body quaked as shuddering gasps racked through him, and tears sprang to his eyes.

He was not aware of House's approach, but the firm hand at the nape of his neck guided him to a more upright position. Slowly, the coughing subsided.

A beaker of water was placed to his lips and Chase drank gratefully; the cool liquid soothing his burning throat for a fleeting moment.

"Thank you." Chase choked, his heart hammering against his chest from the exertion. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to regain his composure and after a minute he found that the pain in his lungs began to ease.

Settling back against the pillows Chase once again opened his eyes. He found himself facing

House's back as, limping, he returned to his chair.

"It came from the gas station next door to Jameson's place. You were exposed twice _and_ drank contaminated water – it was only a matter of time until you showed symptoms." House hesitated.

"I shouldn't have put you in that position."

The conversation had long since departed anything with which he had shared with House in the past, and, feeling awkward, Chase changed the subject; trying to move it to something neutral, something comfortable.

"What happened to Stan Jameson?"

"I've turned him over to Wilson." House replied at once, he too appearing grateful for the return to the normality of discussions about patients. "The brain abscess is under control so he's looking into treatment options. The anaemia is pretty advanced though, so it's unlikely he'll survive."

"That's too bad." Chase replied, his voice weaker than before. He closed his eyes again, tiredness dragging his senses away from him. His breathing, though rasping, took on a rhythmic quality. His muscled, tense in pain during wakefulness, relaxed, and Robert Chase was lost once more to sleep.

……………………..

Foreman and Cameron stood outside the ICU room, gazing in at the scene which, though anomalous, seemed simultaneously right.

Chase lay sleeping, his insentient body surrounded by machines that monitored his condition. Heart rate, blood pressure, respirations – all had returned to something resembling normal, and though it would be some time before the full effects of the toxins had left him, Chase's condition was nothing if not a remarkable improvement.

Likewise in terms of remarkability was the presence of Dr. House. He sat stiffly in the infamously uncomfortable plastic chair, his cane balanced across his lap. In one hand he held a small portable television, but from their vantage point both Cameron and Foreman could see that his attention was not placed on the screen.

Cameron smiled and Foreman shook his head in disbelief.

A dedicated sentinel, House sat watch over Chase, his attention unwavering.

The End.

………………

………………

A/N: Well, that's it. I hope you enjoyed this story – it was my foray into writing the fantastic character of House (quite possibly the best character on tv). With any luck I pulled it off – if not… well, I tried :)

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed.

Sarah

P.S – just in case anyone's interested, I've got a couple more stories up on Fanfiction :)


End file.
